Let's wear polo shirts and go golfing in the rain.I'll call my wife and tell here I'm with you,Like always.And she'll get sort of flusteredBut she'll brush it off.After all, it's just Bros being Bros.And I love spending time with you.

No homo.

…

Fuck this consummate shit.Bein' a bro is all we need!No chicks, no ho's.Nuthin'.We wear grungy denimAnd twenty foot chainsAnd sneakers that squeak when we walk.You hit my shoulder.I hit yours back.It's like flirting, only not gay 'cause that's fuckin sick.

…No homo.

…

It's strange—Like a butterfly dancing on the edge of a page, a leaf floating on air (no wind, just silence), like a smile after tears, like everything I ever wanted. So solid. So transitional—how much I love you.

No homo.

…

I swing my arm around your shoulders,Pull you in for another kiss.Slim lips, swift hands.Short hair and an electric connection.

Homo all the way.

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